


living through each empty night

by youcouldmakealife



Series: throw up your fists, throw out your wits [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders if it’s always going to be like this, like maybe he sucks Nikita off once and they never talk about it again, and every single trip Luke has to press up against him and remember what it was like to have him. </p>
<p>That would fucking suck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	living through each empty night

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Clo for helping me decide on what form this would take. 
> 
> Title is from Fleetwood Mac's "Storms". 
> 
> Also I have a [tumblr!](http://youcouldmakealife.tumblr.com/) You know. In case you forgot.

Luke gets back early. Handjobs with pants still on are not exactly time consuming. And kind of high school. Hell, not even, at least in high school they tended to take their clothes off.

He’s not thinking about it.

Oglivy runs into him in the hall when he’s coming up. “Slim pickings?” he asks.

“It’s fucking Winnipeg,” Luke says.

“Hey,” Oglivy says. “You’re the one who actually goes out here. Ever think of saving it for LA or something? Girls wear short skirts instead of parkas there.”

Luke rolls his eyes, knocks him in the shoulder with his fist, goes back to his room. He strips down, and there isn’t a sign on him, not really, a couple bruises, a bitch of one on his shin from getting in the way of a slapshot, but nothing else. Sidorchuk didn’t even manage to leave a mark. Will go home to his beautiful girlfriend with no sign that Luke was there, no fist in the face or anything else.

_He’s not thinking about it_.

*

They don’t talk about it, Nikita doesn’t even hint that he remembers it happened, which means no telling the team that Morris got so drunk that he actually sucked his cock, which is good, but also no hint of anything. They sit on the bus on the way home the way they always do, their arms pressed together because there’s no room, but Nikita’s got his headphones in and his eyes shut, while Luke’s hyper aware of everywhere they’re touching. Which is ridiculous, because Luke had Nikita’s cock in his mouth, Nikita’s hand on _his_ cock, and his heart’s pounding out of his chest because their shoulders are pressed tight together. 

Not to mention that he’s popped a fucking hard-on, surrounded by his team, just because he’s _sitting_ beside him, which is kind of mortifying, but he can’t help it, keeps thinking about last night, the weight of Nikita on his tongue, the bitterness in his mouth. He brushed his teeth his morning but he can practically still taste him, and his lips feel raw, mouth completely used.

He really wishes he wasn’t wearing sweats right now. He’s got his coat in his lap, but he’s not sure how much that’s hiding anything.

He suffers for hours, and then when they stop for food, practically runs towards the bathroom, which smells like piss and cleaner, but that doesn’t do anything to calm him down. Jerks off with his sweats around his thighs in a fucking Tim Hortons bathroom while Nikita’s out there, somewhere, completely unflappable. If he hadn’t made noise when he came in Luke’s mouth, Luke would have figured him for stone cold.

When he comes out of the bathroom, a couple of the guys are waiting impatiently.

“The fuck, Morris,” Smythe says. “You take a dump in there?”

“Jerked off,” Luke says blithely, and goes to order himself a BLT.

Back on the bus he has to deal with lack of personal space again, and he’d switch, honestly, if he could (or not, he probably wouldn’t, but he likes to think he would), but the seating arrangement is pretty fixed. He wonders if it’s always going to be like this, like maybe he sucks Nikita off once and they never talk about it again, and every single trip Luke has to press up against him and remember what it was like to have him. 

That would fucking suck.

He can’t think about it once he’s home though, since he may have finished Brave New World, but he definitely didn’t finish the essay on it that’s due Tuesday. He spends Sunday night and most of Monday working on it, because if his grades drop too much his spot on the team goes with them, and about the only time he has that isn’t focused on eating, working out or weird dystopias is when he’s jerking off before bed, and then he can’t _stop_ thinking about it.

They don’t acknowledge it during the week, when Nikita’s handing his own essay in right after Luke, when they’ve got practice, when their English teacher is putting them in groups for discussions, and they get lumped together. Nikita isn’t treating him any differently, isn’t acting differently at all, and Luke almost thinks he imagined it. Can alcohol make you hallucinate? He doesn’t think so, so maybe it was just a really good dream. That carries through Thursday’s game, and when they pile onto the bus after school Friday, Luke accidentally falling asleep on Nikita’s shoulder on their way to Abbotsford and apologizing profusely when he wakes up, Nikita just smirking at him. 

They get into Abbotsford at four in the morning and all go to pass out, dreading the wake up call in four hours. For some reason, though, Luke doesn’t even get that much sleep, wakes up at seven-thirty with morning wood and Nikita awake in the bed beside him, fiddling with his phone.

Luke rubs his eyes, tries to subtly adjust himself under the blankets. “Didn’t sleep?” he asks, groggy. Wonders if he can get another half hour or if he’s up for good.

“A little,” Nikita says, sort of distractedly, then looks up, puts his phone down on the side table. They’ve got the curtains shut but there’s still enough light to see by, and Luke can’t help looking, watching the blanket slip down to cradle between Nikita’s hips when he sits up. He’s hard, and Luke tries really hard not to take that as an invitation.

“Come here,” Nikita says.

Okay, that _is_ an invitation.

Luke feels kind of ridiculous taking the two steps from his bed with his cock so hard there’s nothing left to the imagination, even with boxers on, but Nikita tugs the covers back and any embarrassment Luke feels completely disappears, because Nikita went to bed wearing clothes, Luke would have _noticed_ if Nikita went to bed naked, but he’s shucked his briefs at some point, and his cock is hard and red, curving toward his stomach, wet at the tip already, like he’s been hard for awhile, fiddling with his phone and lazily jacking it while Luke slept beside him.

“Do you--” Luke starts, doesn’t know what to say. Does he want Luke to blow him again? Or--or fuck, or anything, Luke doesn’t think he’d say no to anything right now.

“Come _here,_ ” Nikita repeats, a little impatient, and Luke kneels on the edge of the bed, can’t stop looking--Nikita’s cock, his balls drawn up tight, his nipples hard. Can’t decide where to look because he wants to touch all of it, wants to put his mouth on all of it, but he doesn’t know what he’s allowed. Nikita’s letting him look, though, so he’ll take it.

In the end he can’t help but touch, reaches out, thumb rubbing over the pre-come slicking the head of Nikita’s cock, and Nikita groans, low, gets a hand on the scruff of Luke’s neck and pulls him in, until Luke has let go to brace his hands on the mattress, to straddle his thigh so that he doesn’t fall on top of him.

Luke looks down at him, feeling a little wide-eyed, and probably looking it too, the heat of Nikita’s thigh against his cock, the hard muscle of it. Luke feels like he could just rub up against him, come like that, he’s so easy for it right now, but Nikita gets his hands around Luke’s hips, first to steady him, and then insistently tugging until Luke has to get off Nikita to he can shuck his boxers, scrambles a little, until he’s naked and straddling Nikita’s hips, feeling completely exposed and kind of liking it.

“Just,” Nikita says, sounding sort of frustrated, then grabs Luke’s hand, ignoring the way he has to try to catch his balance on one arm, guides it to where he’s hot and hard, the pulse of his blood almost as fast as Luke’s heart is pounding. This Luke knows how to do, even backwards, even if Nikita’s uncut, he has _more_ than enough practice jerking off, so he manages, pretty quickly, to get a decent rhythm down, even though it stutters when Nikita gets a hand around him as well, hand calloused and rough, too rough, but so fucking good that Luke folds, buries his face in the curve of where Nikita’s neck meets shoulder, his thighs shaking a little bit, splayed wide, his breath hot and humid against Nikita’s skin, hand speeding up, because he wants that, god, he wants Nikita to come on him, to mark him up, to show he’s been there.

When Nikita takes his hand off Luke’s cock Luke can’t help the small noise of disappointment, but then he’s guiding him again, hand on the small of Luke’s back so that he’s pressed even tighter against him, so that their cocks are bumping, slick enough for a little movement, but barely, hard friction where Luke rubs his cock against Nikita’s, their bodies gone slick with sweat even in the cool hotel room. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, can’t be sure there’s any rhythm at all, is just chasing his pleasure, and Nikita gets his hands on his ass, slows him down, until it’s a dirty, slow grind. Luke can’t look at him, can’t look because he knows he won’t last if he sees their cocks nudged up against each others, if he sees Nikita flushed dark under him. It’s already bad enough without vision, when he can hear the way they sound, Luke’s breathing in pants, Nikita’s fast, loud, when he can feel everything, magnified, taste Nikita because he can’t help it, has to, the salt sweat of his skin against Luke’s tongue.

Nikita manages to keep some kind of pace at least, his hands tight on Luke’s ass, and Luke can’t think of that, he can’t, the fact that he’s splayed out, completely open, cock against the planes of Nikita’s abs and Nikita’s hips sharp against the insides of his thighs.

He’s close to the edge, trying to think of something, anything that will slow this down, because he doesn’t want to come first, but more than anything he doesn’t want this to _end_ , is afraid they’ll finish and clean up and maybe not talk about it again until the next road trip, when Nikita could just give him a look and he’d start stripping, or maybe not at all, maybe he’s fucking this up and it isn’t going to happen again, that this is the last time he’s going to get this. Those thoughts work, a little at least, he manages to hold on, until Nikita’s hands are moving again, one hand holding him open while his fingers press against him, between his cheeks, brushing against his hole. Luke chokes on air, can’t even breathe, both then and when Nikita’s middle finger presses against him, firm pressure, and when he gets just the tip of his finger in, dry, Luke comes between them, slicks their stomachs and their cocks while he’s practically sobbing into Nikita’s shoulder.

Nikita says something, Luke doesn’t know if it’s not English or he just isn’t capable of understanding him at this point, either one could be true, and then he’s pulling his finger out, manages to flip them over even though Luke’s deadweight at this point, until Luke’s flat on his back, his thighs spread wide, and Nikita’s got a hand around his own cock, his eyes fucking everywhere, where Luke’s covered with his own come, cock softening against his belly. Luke finally looks at him, and it’s a good thing he hadn’t before, he’s so broad, so present, his body sheened with sweat and some of Luke’s come on his own belly, slicking his own cock, his face red and hair dark with sweat at the temples, falling in his eyes. He’s got his bottom lip between his teeth and he just won’t stop looking at Luke, Luke feels like he’s fucking him with his eyes, before he comes, hot against where Luke’s come is sticking to his skin, adding to the mess of it. 

“Oh my god,” Luke says, kind of dimly, and Nikita pulls back, lies down beside him, chest still heaving. When Luke gathers himself enough to look at the clock, he realises they’ve still got fifteen minutes left until their alarms go off. “Oh my god,” Luke repeats, hand sliding down to rub through the mess on his stomach. His fingers come back slick, and he slides them into his mouth. He doesn’t like the taste, not really, but he can’t tell if he’s tasting Nikita or himself, and that’s so hot, to know the taste in his mouth is from both of them.

“Fuck,” Nikita says, and Luke looks over at him. He’s looking at Luke kind of wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and Luke realises how slutty that probably looked, sliding his fingers through their come so he could taste it. He’d be embarrassed, but the look on Nikita’s face says he isn’t complaining, so he pinks up a little, can’t help it, but doesn’t look away from Nikita.

While he’s being kind of brave, he musters up what he has, because if there’s any time to ask a guy to keep having sex with you it’s when you’re naked and covered in his spunk.

“Can we keep doing that?” Luke asks.

Nikita grins. Not that tight lipped smile he usually has, or the reluctant, more genuine one, but one Luke’s never seen before, all teeth, practically predatory.

Okay, Luke will take that as a yes.

*

Winnipeg was the first stop on a steady journey east, and while Luke isn’t hurting for girls in short skirts, he does feel itchy, unsatisfied, so after a Saturday game in Toronto he ditches the team and heads down to the Gay Village.

The club he ends up at is packed just past midnight, and everyone’s a whole lot better dressed than he is, even though he’s got most of his game day suit on, tie and jacket shucked and sleeves rolled up to the elbows. And he still looks pretty weak. He’s getting enough glances though, to know at least he isn’t going back to the hotel with blue balls.

He nurses a beer, looks for someone a little more his type, the place way more twinky then he would have liked, and instead he gets someone coming up to him. 

“Are you--” the guys starts, and of course if Luke’s going to get recognized in a gay bar it’ll be in Toronto.

“Probably,” he says dryly.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” the guy asks, not even bothering with flirting, which Luke kind of appreciates. Luke looks him over. He’s baby faced, probably a little too young for Luke, but his body’s toned and lithe. 

“No,” Luke says, and before he looks too disappointed, “but I’ll suck your cock in the bathroom if you want.”

“Yeah,” the guy breathes, and when he gets up to go, Luke follows. 

*

There’s no expose or anything the next morning, no Deadspin article about him sucking cock and getting his suit pants fucked up on the floor of a club, no photos. Which is good, at least the guy believed in reciprocity _and_ privacy.

He tells himself he isn’t disappointed.


End file.
